Chapter 35
Thirty-five
Liz
It takes Misty all week to make time to meet with me.
But on Friday morning, she finally hovers outside my office door, clutching the drug trials binder like it offended her.
Eventually, she crosses the room and settles into the chair across from me.
It’s the end of a long week where every attempt to meet turned into a cancellation or a sudden “something came up.”
I figure I have nothing left to lose with her, so I’m going to be straightforward. “I know you wanted this job,” I begin, keeping my voice calm. “And I know it didn’t feel fair that I got it.”
Her expression tightens before she reins it in.
“It wasn’t fair. I’ve been doing your job for years.
I have a degree in hospital administration.
And when the position came up? I wasn’t considered.
Not seriously.” The hurt in her voice is palpable.
This is something she’s been carrying quietly because no one asked.
“I get why you’re angry,” I say. “And I agree that it wasn’t handled well.” I keep my hands flat on the table. “But if you still want to advance your career, I’d like to help you get there, and that only happens if we work well together.”
Misty exhales, tension easing. She nods. “Okay.”
We open the binder, and she shifts closer to guide me through everything—how new clinical trials come through the system, where she pulls the criteria lists, which physicians respond and which ones need persistent follow-up, how to navigate the electronic records without missing critical data.
Her expertise shows in every sentence. I listen, letting her explain without interrupting.
At one point, I lean back, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of work. “This is a full-time job,” I say.
“We’re behind,” she agrees. “Really behind. It’ll take a lot to catch up.”
I close the binder halfway and meet her eyes. “Can I be honest with you?”
She stiffens slightly. “Okay.”
“I’ve caught bad numbers in everything you’ve given me or that I’ve asked you for. Every file. Every report.”
Her face flushes a slow, painful red. She doesn’t look away. “I know.” Her voice is stripped bare. “I wasn’t doing my best. I was angry with you. And at Hudson. And I let that color everything. It wasn’t professional. I’m sorry.”
Something inside me eases. “Thank you. How about we rebuild our working relationship? You begin where the tracking stopped on this project and clean things up. I’ll handle the current month and work backward, and we’ll meet in the middle.
When we’re done, we’ll trade and check each other’s work. Two sets of eyes. Clean slate.”
She looks at me for a long moment, and then she nods. “That works. I like that.”
I close the binder. “Great. Let’s do it.”
When she leaves, her steps are lighter, and the room feels different. This task—and probably a lot of others—will be much more manageable with someone reliable to share the load.
And there’s no time like the present, so I open the file on my laptop and begin working through the hierarchy of hospital employees, making notes on what I’m seeing and what’s missing.
Sometime later, Hudson taps lightly on my doorframe. He doesn’t step inside, just leans in the way he always does, checking to see whether I’m buried in paperwork. “You’re still coming tonight, right?”
I look up. “To the fundraiser? Yes. I’ll be there.”
He folds his arms. “Good. It’s a big night. The board likes to see full participation.”
“I know,” I say. “I’m looking forward to it.”
The lie sits oddly in my chest, too warm and too tight. I wish I could tell him the truth, that I’m doing my best to show up even though I don’t feel ready.
He studies me quietly. “Are you okay?”
“Long week,” I tell him. “But I’m fine. I had a great meeting with Misty earlier today.”
He seems to accept that. “That’s good. Don’t be late. Registration opens at six.”
“I won’t.”
He begins to leave, and then glances back. “And Liz? Good job with Misty.”
The compliment surprises me. “Thank you. I think we’re getting somewhere.”
When he’s gone, I sit back and let myself settle. The fundraiser looms, but now, I have a game plan and a path forward that I don’t have to manage alone.
By five o’clock, my head is buzzing with a strange mix of fatigue and anticipation. I walk home quickly, knowing that if I slow down, I might talk myself out of going this evening. I thought I’d have Alaric at my side tonight.
When I get home, I focus on what’s ahead and go straight to the closet.
The dress is a deep, almost-black blue with thin spaghetti straps and a fitted bodice that definitely requires Spanx. I pull it on and smooth the fabric over my hips. In the mirror, it looks better than I expected—simple but elegant.
I plug in my hot rollers and work through my hair before turning to my makeup. The routine steadies me, and after a few minutes, the face looking back feels composed, even if something beneath it isn’t.
My phone rings just as I’m finishing my smoky eyes. Trinity. I pick up without greeting her. “Please tell me you’re not already there,” I say.
She lets out a thin laugh. “I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well enough to go. This baby is kicking my ass.”
I freeze. “What?”
“I’m exhausted,” she admits. “I don’t want you to go alone. I know you’ll know people there, but Ryker and Ginny offered to pick you up. They have a limo.”
A pulse of disappointment moves through me. I’d counted on her company. But Trinity never calls for help unless she truly needs it.
“Okay, thank you. Don’t worry about me,” I say. “Rest. And tomorrow night, I’ll watch Theo so you and Greyson can attend the dinner with his family.”
“You’re the best,” she murmurs. “Have fun tonight. And don’t let Ryker talk you into anything questionable.”
“No promises.”
After we hang up, I take out the rollers, letting my hair fall in soft curls, then grab my pink pashmina and wrap it around my shoulders. As I slip into my heels, the doorbell rings.
Ryker stands on my porch like he’s auditioning for a whiskey ad—hands in his pockets, easy smile, hair perfectly tousled. His eyes sweep over me with warm appreciation. “Trinity didn’t tell me I’d need riot gear to fend off half the hospital,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “Please don’t start.”
“I’m complimenting,” he says. “And also warning you about Steve Julian. Keep a five-foot radius. Preferably ten. He’s the hospital man-whore and will zero in on you.”
I laugh, and it feels good. “He filled the job after you got married,” I jab as I lock up and follow him to the SUV.
He opens the door. “He always had the job.”
Ginny’s waiting in the back of the limo. “You look gorgeous!” she shrieks as I enter. “Trinity’s devastated that she’s missing this.”
I climb in as Ryker follows. “Her morning sickness has been ruthless,” I say. “She needs a quiet night.”
“I know,” Ginny says, turning to face me.
She chatters about Trinity’s nesting instincts, her grandmother’s drama, and a spreadsheet that refuses to behave.
Her brightness fills the car, and watching her and Ryker together—the teasing, the shared rhythm—makes something twist inside me.
That kind of closeness feels far away tonight.
When we pull up at the Delta Hotel, the entry glows with soft gold lights. Valets weave around guests in gowns and tailored suits. Ginny sighs happily when she spots the floral archway.
“My mother-in-law thinks this hotel is cold,” she says. “But look at it. It’s beautiful.”
The driver stops at the front, and Ryker jumps out first to hold the door for Ginny and me with exaggerated chivalry. “Ready?”
“Not entirely.”
He grins. “Perfect.”
Inside, the ballroom is gorgeous, and the hotel doesn’t feel cold at all—spring blooms in tall glass columns, green up-lighting, soft music.
Ginny keeps hold of my arm as we head to check-in.
I straighten my back, slipping into the version of myself I use at hospital events—presentable, composed, unruffled.
We’re barely through the entrance when Janna Tayler from HR, the organizer of this event, spots me. She waves, clipboard in hand, headset tucked under her hair. “Liz!” She hugs me. “Thank you for coming. You look incredible.”
“Thank you. This is beautiful.”
She gestures to the man beside her. “My husband, John Chappell.”
I smile as I recognize him. He’s a neurologist at the hospital.
He offers a polite nod. We exchange pleasantries while Janna scans the room like she’s waiting for a fire. It comes—figuratively—when someone waves frantically from across the room.
She sighs and touches John’s arm. “Duty calls.”
He nods and follows her. “Excuse us.”
I wave them off and take a moment to admire the room before parting ways with Ginny and Ryker to head toward my table. The space feels alive—glamorous without being showy, elegant without being stiff. Couples move easily through the space.
My table is near the center, close enough to the stage to seem important. As I ease into my seat, the woman beside me offers a bright smile.
“You must be Liz,” she says. “I’m Kathy. Roger’s wife.”
For a second, I blink. “It’s nice to meet you,” I tell her. “I forget Hudson’s first name is Roger.”
She laughs. “Everyone does. I almost didn’t take his last name, but my maiden name was Schwarzkopf, and no one could pronounce it, let alone spell it, so Hudson won in the end.”
She’s warm, magnetic in a quiet way. I like her immediately.
Everyone makes it to the table, but the chair on my right stays empty. I try not to notice, but it tugs at me—what could have been, who should have been beside me. I force my attention back to Kathy as she talks about her kids and a disastrous past gala moment involving flaming meringue.
When the welcome begins, my mind drifts. I spot Janna and John near the front, leaning in as they whisper. They look easy together—comfortable, connected—a pairing that works.
It stings. Why did everything with Alaric twist itself into complication? Why did we let something good become something impossible?
Hudson joins us, and dinner arrives—chicken, potatoes, green beans.
I make myself eat a few bites. I smile when expected, nod when appropriate, and eventually try not to get lost in the swirl of couples heading toward the dance floor.
But I can’t help noticing the way people soften when they dance with someone they trust. After a few minutes, I reach down to find my bag under the table.
Kathy looks over. “You’re not staying for dancing?”
“I should head out,” I say. “Early morning tomorrow.”
She gives me a knowing smile. “It was lovely to meet you.”
Hudson bids me goodnight as well, and I gather my scarf and excuse myself. No one seems to notice me slipping out. Everyone’s already halfway to the bar or wrapped around their partner on the dance floor.
The hallway is cooler, quieter. I pull up the rideshare app and step outside. The air is soft against my skin, carrying a hint of rain. My car arrives quickly, and I sink into the backseat, watching the hotel recede behind me. Only then do I text Ryker and Ginny to let them know I’ve gone.
The ride home is calm, almost meditative. When I reach my house, I thank the driver and step out, the cool air brushing my collarbone where my scarf has slipped.
Inside, the house is silent again. I stand for a moment, taking off my heels. I made it through the event. I showed up and did what I was supposed to.
But as I inhale the quiet, truth settles over me with a clarity I can’t soften.
I miss Alaric. And pretending otherwise is becoming its own kind of heartbreak.